My Life as a Cat

I thought today how much my existence is like a cat's. I sleep, eat, poop, sleep. I follow the sun and like to nap with it full on my face. I contribute very little and demand people wait on me. True cat existence.

Wait, though. I'm not a cat. I don't ignore things and people I don't want to pay attention to. I am unable to ignore the tension between father and son, or the path Dolan is traveling. I don't have the energy to do much about it, and yet it hangs over me and seeps through my system and causes discomfort. If I could stand out in the rain and let it wash over me after a while it would have the same effect. How do people realize when enough is enough?

The days go by slowly yet I am always surprised by the setting sun. What was my day filled with?

Reading. Currently Sherman Alexie. The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. While reading the stories I can understand what a fortunate existence I have, and grieve for the lost lives and culture. In some way it makes dying easier. My life is worth no more or less than countless Indians who have passed and will pass before I do. Perspective.

Listening. I ask Alexa to play NHPR and hear all the news. Very little of it is good, although there might be a cessation of bombing in Syria. That would be a blessing for all concerned. A cessation of violence would be better, but violence is never-ending, as was shown by the Kalamazoo Uber driver yesterday. Then there is the presidential campaign. When the Pope gets involved, you know it's over the top crazy. People have the right to support whomever, but Trump would make a positively repellent president. There are less-objectionable candidates on the Republican side, but none can gain traction against a demagogue like Trump. We all need to read All the Kings Men again. On our side, we have two similar yet different. I will vote my gender, and be justified in doing so. Even if Hillary is not as progressive as Bernie, it is time for a woman. We are the majority, after all.

Eating. Not very much, not very often. Yesterday, slices of ring Bologna and cranberry apple juice at noon, rigatoni at 7 with a small glass of beer. I don't always feel hungry as I can never eat enough to stretch my stomach. Where was this when I was healthy, I ask?! Dang. My last weight was 140, down from 165 (after I got slow from ALS and gained 15). The doctors say I must keep calories going in. I know I should, but I still can't be sad about losing weight. Maybe when I'm under 125, then I'll worry.

Viewing. Too much, too often. Yet losing myself in Netflix, or streaming Downton Abbey or other current shows, allows me to forget for a while my situation. I do find myself envying the ability of the actors to move freely, although fortunately in the same instant I can think of those who are far worse handicapped than me, or who are that way from birth. I am so very fortunate to have had 53 great healthy years.

Napping. Just like Rosie, I spend more and more time napping. I don't mind, really, although. I hate to waste daylight.

86,400 Seconds

A day like most occurred. Awake with Paul at 7, but in bed past noon. Always on my back, only able to raise and lower the mattress to raise and lower my legs and back. Then when I ask, Dolan comes to rescue me and get me to my chair. Then I'm in my chair until at some point I ask to be put back in bed again. After being in my chair a few hours today, I realized my feet were just in the exact position that Dolan placed them. Intellectually, I know that they don't move, but it still is a bit unsettling to see them lie so still. So very still.

Hey, but no big deal.

I watched the Ash Wednesday Mass from St. Peter's Basilica, and way too many Extant episodes. My takeaway from a cyborg future is that cool manufactured legs and arms aren't much good to an ALS person, as the brain is what needs tweaking.  My takeaway from the Mass is we Catholics love the pageantry of the Holy Days. This is what pulls me back to the Church, that and the community of our local parish.

In the long term, though, I can't envision this day after day. I could get a feeding tube, and then eventually a trache tube, and I could be stabilized in this chair and driven by others. Heck, I could live a long time that way. I could type with my eyes and speak through a computer. But I can't garden, or play the piano, or hold a newspaper, or read an actual book. Or hike, or sing, or do any of the active things I used to do. If I can only walk in my dreams, then I need to end this sooner than later.

So, I've determined not to have a feeding tube. I will eat solid foods and then liquid ones until I can't swallow anymore, then let malnutrition or starvation or whatever take its natural course. The kids and Paul and I have discussed it, and are prepared. With the help of hospice, the end should be relatively peaceful.  In the meantime, this cheers me each time I see it: